Expert Author Ed Kugler
It was a warm spring day in Spokane, Washington on Saturday, May 5. Standing with 200 others, we silently watched as a Husband, Father, Grandfather, Teacher, Friend and fellow Marine was about to be laid to rest. Amongst the 200 onlookers were 12 United States Marine Corps Scout-Snipers who'd traveled from Virginia, Oregon, Washington, Texas, California and Montana to pay their respects to a fallen Brother, Sergeant Gary R. Reiter, 4th Marines, two tours in Vietnam.
Seven Marines from the local Marine Corps League were called to attention, then position and commanded, "Fire," and the reverent silence of the afternoon air shattered like cheap glass by the report of seven rifles fired in unison. The tradition of the 21 gun salute is an old, old military custom dating back to the 1200's when it was used to signal from one ship to the other that it meant no ill will.
The command could be heard, "Fire" once again and the silence was pierced by the rifle's discharge. The tradition became more standardized over time and evolved to the present day practice of 21 guns.
For the third time, "Fire" and the seven guns had echoed their final report. Current regulations provide for a 21 gun salute we had just witnessed for a President or other Head of State, 19 guns for a Vice President and down from there. The tradition of providing a 21 gun salute to a fallen service member is said to accord the same respect as the nation and President he served.
It wasn't my first military funeral and won't be my last. After two years in Vietnam, my beloved Marine Corps assigned me to a Reserve Center in a city of about 150,000 where we had a 100-mile radius to handle services for our Brothers killed in Vietnam. I commanded the firing squad for the salute. It was a different view than the one I'd had in combat. Four months and 19 funerals later I was pretty numb to the pomp and circumstance surrounding the whole affair. For many years I would not attend any funerals.
I knew all too well that the playing of Taps came next. Years ago, standing off in the distance with my Firing Squad, I knew if people made it through the Salute, they would not make it through Taps without bawling their eyes out. The playing of Taps dated back to the Civil War when Union General Daniel Butterfield sought a more melodious tune to signal time for bed. His troops were weary after sevens days of battles near Richmond.
General Butterfield himself reworked the melody with his burglar, Private Oliver Wilcox Norton and the new 24 note tune quickly spread throughout the Army including the Confederates. It wasn't long after that Taps played at the funeral of a fallen Union cannoneer. His Commanding Officer, Captain John Tidball, decided the playing of Taps would be safer on the battlefield than the customary firing of three rifle volleys over the grave.
The origin of the name Taps comes with some confusion. Before the bugle call for lights out drummers played three drum beats or taps, which is assumed by many to be the origin. But on this day, May 5, 2018, there was no confusion as the Marine Bugler broke the silence with 24 perfect notes for Gary. If there were dry eyes in the crowd, they were few on this day.
There was silence as attention shifted to his Widow, his Son, and his Mother. Standing before them the two Marines assigned began the difficult task of folding the flag for presentation to Gary's widow, Susan, who stood by him through thick and thin during their 47 plus years bound together in a forever marriage. Gary was no perfect man, but then, neither are you and I.
Two perfectly dressed young Marines prepared to fold the flag, a custom began during the Napoleonic Wars. When the flag is placed over a closed casket, it is laid so that the union, or blue shield, is at the head and over the left shoulder of the deceased, said to be embracing the deceased who in life served the flag. When the flag is removed it is held waist high over the grave where the folding takes place.
The family and close friends sitting close by, overwhelmed in their grief, are often unaware that each one of the 13 folds carries a particular meaning. On this day 200 people stood silently as the Marines began the painstaking process that culminates with the presentation of the flag to the next of kin.
The flag is folded into a triangle and has 13 folds, signifying the original 13 colonies. The first fold of the flag is a symbol of life. The second fold means our belief in eternal life. The third fold is made in honor and tribute of the Veteran departing our ranks who gave a portion of their lives defending our freedom and seeking peace.
As the audience stands quietly by watching the seemingly slow process of the Marines, they don't know the fourth fold exemplifies our weaker nature as citizens trusting in God; it is to Him we turn for Divine guidance. The fifth fold is an acknowledgment to our country, for in the words of Stephen Decatur, "Our country, in dealing with other countries, may she always be right, but it is still our country, right or wrong."
Some begin to fidget at this point, but the Marines are unmoved in their meticulous task of honoring one of their own.
The sixth fold is for where our hearts lie. It is with our heart that we pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. The seventh fold is a tribute to our armed forces, for it is through the armed forces that we protect our country and our flag against all enemies.
The family and loved ones sitting close, some are impatient, wanting it over while others want this moment to continue forever. The eighth fold is a tribute to the one who entered into the valley of the shadow of death, that we might see the light of day, and to honor our mother, for whom it flies on Mother's Day. On this day, the ninth fold is for Gary's widow, Susan. The ninth fold is an honor to womanhood, for it has been through their faith, love, loyalty, and devotion that the character of the men and women who have made this country great have been molded. She epitomizes every word of that fold.
The 10th fold is a tribute to father, for he, too, has given his sons and daughters for the defense of our country since he or she was first-born. To many today, the final folds would raise cries of woe because they state our Judeo-Christian heritage. The 11th fold, in the eyes of Hebrew citizens, represents the lower portion of the seal of King David and King Solomon and glorifies, in their eyes, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The 12th fold, in the eyes of a Christian citizen, represents an emblem of eternity and glorifies, in their eyes, God the Father, the Son, and Holy Ghost.
As the two Marines face one another making the thirteenth and final fold, I'm grateful for its meaning. The last fold, when the flag is complete, the stars are uppermost, reminding us of our national motto, "In God We Trust." Finished, the Marines execute their movements and in front of the next of kin, kneel and say, ""On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Marine Corps, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service."
The conclusion of the service is the beginning of a new chapter in the lives of those left standing. During those minutes my mind always fractures and exposes my friend Perl, blown to bits by an enemy mortar, whose 42-year-old Mother died two years after his death from what her Doctor described as a 'broken heart.' Through the crack in my vault, I see 35 dead Marines we zipped in body bags for the ride home and a ceremony like the one we just concluded. I hear the voice of my first sniper partner, Hutch, who passed away one month ago, telling me with a cracking voice of the insanity that was the Seige of Khe Sahn. As I look up I get a glimpse of Gary's son, Zack, a great young man with a young wife and daughter and happiness slips in amongst the carnage in my head.
We're getting together for a group picture of the 12 of us who came from near and far to honor our fallen Brother. As we do, in my mind's eye I see my first sniper partner, Hutch, smiling in the midst of our first firefight. I'm holding Moto's hand two years ago, as he lost consciousness from the brain tumor that took him in less than two months. We're trying to get organized, but my mental multi-tasking isn't helping much.
On a cloudy afternoon in Spokane, I stand arm in arm with my Brothers in arms. Some I fought with over 50 years ago; some I just met yesterday who I fight vicariously with today. Young men who left their families flew and drove several states away to honor one of their own. Arm in arm I look out at smiling ladies taking pictures of us and see my good friend Greek. I spoke at his funeral nearly twenty years ago, as well as his Mom and his Dad's before that. Gary and I held his hand when he came out of surgery, after losing his leg to a mine.
The kaleidoscope in my head flashes like camera bulbs back in the day. Surrounded by Marines young and old I feel like I'm sitting in a pan of Jiffy Pop. The photo session ends, and like all the funerals I attended as part of a Marine burial detail, life returns to normal for some and a new, yet undefined normal begins for those close to the loved one they lost. Time doesn't heal all wounds it merely creates a scar to be lived with forever.
We bid farewell to my good friend and fellow warrior Gary. R. Reiter. We share a Brotherhood that crosses time, age, social boundaries, and generations. A bond few will know, and fewer will understand. The vault to the compartments in my mind creaked open, greased by the tears I held in so tight. Tonight I'll travel back in time as will many of the 11 snipers who stood at my side to honor our friend.
Many times we're asked, "Was it worth it?" The answer is yes. We are blessed by God Almighty to live in the one nation He provided as a beacon of hope for the freedom of mankind. He sent His Son, Jesus Christ that we may have eternal life. As we Marines depart, we know we will meet Gary again. Semper Fidelis, until Valhalla Brother.